


Mage-Blood

by BlueEyedBadger



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adopted Children, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 02:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8083351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedBadger/pseuds/BlueEyedBadger
Summary: Inquisitor Anafiel Lavellan gains another follower, and Dorian finally loses his heart.





	

Weeks after ‘the Redcliffe Incident’ as Dorian was calling the meeting with his father, Inquisitor Anafiel Lavellan found himself in the Hinterlands once again. The Inquisition had stopped the worst of the fighting with their absorption of the mages into their ranks, but the Witchwood was still a mess. Anafiel addressed his circle, which today consisted of The Iron Bull, Varric, and Dorian. “We should check on that village the Grand Enchanter mentioned.” He said as they made their way through the trees.

                “Didn’t Cullen already dispatch troops to search for survivors?” Varric asked. Anafiel nodded.

                “Just the same. I’d like to be there, just in case there are any mage/Templar tensions.”

                It soon became evident that there weren’t going to be tensions in this particular village, simply because there were no people left alive. Anafiel’s soldiers grimly picked through the rubble of burnt homes, said prayers over the dead. Anafiel and his people were nearing one of the only intact huts when they heard voices inside.

“Puny little whelp,” Said the first man. “What do we do with him?”

                “Just leave him,” A second man replied carelessly. “The Inquisition doesn’t need another mouth to feed. No one’ll miss him. He’s just an elf, and probably a dirty mage-blood besides.”

                “Oh shit, boss…” The Iron Bull made a grab for him, but Anafiel was already stalking up the stairs to the hut. The others followed quickly- they had all felt Anafiel’s magic flare, and the wrath behind it practically scorched the skin. 

                “Give me that child… _”_ Anafiel stood in the middle of the ramshackle dwelling, his strange magic roiling around him with a darkness that froze the soul. He hadn’t raised his voice, but he hadn’t needed to- everyone understood that in this moment, Anafiel was the most terrifying thing they were ever likely to see. It was no wonder the two soldiers couldn’t move. 

                “H…Herald…”

                “Now!” Anafiel barked.  The man holding the baby quickly handed it to him, his hands shaking so badly he almost dropped the tiny bundle. The baby shifted, about to protest but Anafiel brushed his fingers over the boy’s downy head. “Did you hear, lethallin?” He said, his voice terrifyingly reasonable. “You’re just an elf. Nothing of consequence.”

                “M..My lord…”

                “And a dirty mage-blood. How dare you exist?”

 “Please…my lord…have mercy!”

“Mercy like you offered him?” Dorian winced, resisted the urge to scrape his fingernails against his skin to rid himself of the crawling fury of Anafiel’s magic. He could see Varric out of the corner of his eye, unnaturally still, as though afraid to draw attention.  The Iron Bull surveyed the scene with one hand on his ax and the eyes of a man who had seen war, and who regularly wrestled with fury.

“Anafiel,” Dorian let his own magic flare just a bit, just enough to push back. It got his attention. “Remember what you hold. “

Anafiel instinctively looked down, and the pull of his magic loosened. Without another word, he turned and swept out of the hut, leaving two very rattled soldiers inside. They were just at the edge of the clearing when Anafiel handed the infant to Varric and turned back with a strange, dark look in his crimson eyes.  He raised his hands and the earth piled itself against the door, effectively trapping the men inside. “Anafiel…” Dorian said warily. “What are you…?”

He got his answer a moment later as the hut burst into flames with an incendiary flash that made them all shield their eyes.  “Kaffas!” Dorian swore. Anafiel didn’t say a word, just took the baby again and headed down the hill.

“Anafiel! You’re not just going to leave them trapped like that?!”

“Save them if you will.” He replied, not even looking back. “I’ll have no part of it.”

.:*:.

Dorian found Anafiel in the healer’s hut. “He’s alright,” The woman was saying as she examined the baby, “Just puny. Get a few square meals in his belly and he’ll be fine.”                    

That brought on a whole other question. “I’m afraid,” Anafiel drawled, staring pointedly at his chest, “That I may prove a bit inept at providing food for a baby.”

The healer laughed appreciatively. “Aye, my lord. Most of the stock was run off…I think Farmer Cregan still has a goat though….”

                …Which is how Dorian and Anafiel found themselves standing in a barnyard staring at a nanny goat who was singularly unimpressed to see them. “Dorian…” Anafiel began, “Have you ever milked a goat?”

                “No. I’m afraid my rigorous training at one of the most prestigious universities in Minrathous did not prepare me for farm life.” Dorian replied dryly. “Don’t the Dalish have animals?”

 “Halla, not goats.”

“How different are they really?”

Dorian got a glare for that. “You don’t _milk_ a halla.”

“Well, _excuse me_ for my ignorance, Inquisitor.”

Anafiel sighed, realizing that the goat wouldn’t milk itself, then went to hand Dorian the baby. The Tevene shied away as though Anafiel was offering him a viper. “I should mention that that same university also didn’t offer parenting classes.”

“You faced down a dragon at Haven without flinching and you’re afraid of one undersized elfling?”

“I could set the dragon on fire if it did anything out of the ordinary.” When Anafiel just looked at him, Dorian held out his arms with a sigh. “All right, let’s have your stray kitten.”

His forbearance was rewarded a moment later as he watched Anafiel- the Herald of Andraste, uncommonly powerful mage and unstoppable Inquisitor- chase a very stubborn goat around a muddy barnyard. He tried to hold back his mirth, but it attracted attention anyway and once the Iron Bull started in there was no help for it. The farmer finally stepped in, chortling loudly, and coaxed the animal with feed while the man’s son gave a sheepish Anafiel a milking lesson.

“Don’t you dare write this…” Anafiel warned Varric. The dwarf just shook his head, laughing too hard to say a word.

“Well, we have dinner. Now how do we get it into him?” Anafiel surveyed the narrow-necked bottle now full of milk. “We can’t just pour it straight down his throat…”

The Iron Bull solved that problem. He took a clean length of finely woven cloth bandage and stuffed it down the neck of the bottle, leaving a short, thin tail. He tilted the bottle so that the cloth soaked up the milk- the baby could easily suck the milk from the cloth.

“Where did you come up with that?” Anafiel asked, surveying his handiwork. Bull just shrugged.

“It works in homemade bombs…”

“Bombs. Of course.” Anafiel just sighed. “Well, let’s see if he’ll take it.” He held out his arms but Dorian shook his head.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re a mess Inquisitor.  Let’s go inside, you clean up and leave Kitten to me.”

“Are you sure they didn’t teach parenting at the University?” Anafiel teased on the way back to the inn. Dorian batted his eyelashes at him.

“I’m a quick study.”

.:*:.

Anafiel didn’t reappear for almost two hours, during which time the baby devoured half the bottle of milk and fell asleep in Dorian’s arms. Dorian currently knew exactly where the Inquisitor was, as did every other denizen of the inn and probably everyone halfway to Redcliffe- in Commander Cullen’s quarters giving him the reprimand of the century because of the two brutes  who were now recovering in the infirmary with severe flashfire burns.  Up until now, Dorian could not have told you the last time Anafiel had lost his temper, but the count was mounting quickly. Dorian was just considering going to rescue Cullen when the voices stopped. He carefully placed the baby in the blanket lined box the innkeeper had thoughtfully provided and tiptoed out the door. He met Anafiel in the hall. The elf immediately held up his hands.

“I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

“Do I look like your mother?” Dorian crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ve never actually met her, so I couldn’t say.”

“Well, you may not be in the mood, but you’re in desperate need of one.” Dorian stated boldly. “You were too hard on Commander Cullen. I’m expecting him to throw himself on his sword at any moment now.”

“I trusted him to keep his troops to Inquisition standards, and he failed.”

“Anafiel, that’s unfair. If you took responsibility for every wicked thing that came out of, let’s say, my mouth, or Sera’s, you’d have to give yourself to the mercy of the gaoler.”

“You never threatened to abandon a child,” Anafiel replied icily.

“Nor did Cullen.” Dorian stood his ground. “In an army the size and uniqueness of the Inquisition, he cannot mother hen every single recruit that joins, nor should he be expected to. Besides…you’re not _really_ angry at Cullen anyway.”

A moment passed then another before Anafiel finally replied, his voice heavy with defeat, “I lost my temper.”

“That you did indeed. Rather spectacularly so, I might add.”

“But how many, Dorian? How many people think of me the way those soldiers thought of the baby? Just an elf. Dirty, tainted by magic, unworthy and unwanted…” Anafiel was unconsciously rubbing his thumb in the palm of his left hand where the Anchor smoldered, as though if he pressed hard enough he could rid himself of it.  Dorian nonchalantly reached across and twined his fingers with Anafiel’s.

“ _Do_ you feel tainted by magic?”

Anafiel thought for a second. “No.” He finally replied. “My power has always been a gift.”

“Well then. I can’t speak for all, but I for one do not think of you as _just_ anything. You are an extraordinary man…pointed ears and all.”

“Thank you,” Anafiel whispered gratefully.

The kiss started gently, just as the one after Redcliffe had, a balm against hurt. But then an image came to Dorian, unbidden, of Anafiel standing tall and proud and powerful with that tiny baby cradled in his arms. The juxtaposition of innocent life and impending doom had made a larger impression than he first had thought.

He supposed it was the Tevinter in him, this fascination with power. But the fact remained; Anafiel had never looked more magnificent. Dorian had never wanted him so badly-still wanted him, in fact. Anafiel must have felt the change because he pulled back, instinctively trying to put some distance between them.

“I’m well aware,” Anafiel rested his forehead against Dorian’s, trying to catch his breath, “that you’re only kissing me because I’m hurting.”

“If only you knew half as much as you think you do.” Dorian replied with a roll of his eyes. He seized the other mage’s chin in his hand and captured his lips with his own, trying to put into a kiss what he couldn’t articulate in words. But then, both men froze as a thin wail sounded from the next room. They broke apart, Anafiel bracing his hand against the wall.

“Well,” Dorian ran his long fingers through his hair, trying to settle the pounding of his heart. “Your Kitten has an impeccable sense of timing.”

“Bless his tiny heart.” Anafiel still sounded like he had been running hard but he was slowly getting it under control. Suddenly, there was a wicked gleam in the Inquisitor’s eyes. “Have you ever changed a diaper, Dorian?”

.:*:.

Dorian didn’t exactly know how he had escaped diaper duty that day or any of the following days, but he was grateful that he had. The only explanation was that Anafiel still wasn’t thinking straight. Sleep deprivation would do that to you, he supposed. It was becoming not uncommon to see a bleary-eyed Anafiel wandering the quiet lanes at night bouncing the baby, singing Dalish lullabies that seemed to have no end. “Hail, Lord Dorian.”

The greeting had come from a man in simple, well-kept armor; one of Cullen’s former Templars, Dorian remembered. He had bravely volunteered to take one of Dorian’s fire spells so Cullen could teach the others how to block it. “Well met, Hanrik.”

He must have gotten the right name, because the man smiled and cocked his head toward the sounds of a baby demanding to be fed. “Kitten hungry again?” The village had adopted Dorian’s nickname for the boy. “Sure knows how to eat for such a little one.”

“Yes, and I’m starting to think he has the right idea.  Eat, sleep, be waited on, have the Inquisitor wrapped around your little finger….”

“Not a bad life, when you put it like that.” Hanrik chuckled. He hesitated for just a beat before continuing, “My lord? I…have a thought, if I might be so bold.”

“Certainly, Hanrik. What is it?”

“It’s about the wee one. I know the Lord Inquisitor has plenty to do here, and it’s got to be hard with the Kitten. I know he’s not said anything, but he’s a man that doesn’t need to be losing more sleep than I guess he already does.”

Dorian frowned. He hadn’t thought about that. “Go on.”

“Well, my wife is here in the village visiting her family. My Marji and I…” Hanrik paused, swallowed hard. “We… lost our boy just a fortnight ago.”

“I am…sorry for your loss.” Dorian truly was.

“Thank you kindly my lord. I just figured…maybe Marji could take some of the duty from the Lord Inquisitor. She’s been awfully lost since Colm…well, it would be good to have a distraction.”

“If your wife wouldn’t mind, I could certainly discuss it with Anafiel…”

“What are we to be discussing?” Anafiel came out, carrying Kitten. Fed and changed, the boy was gurgling happily, toying with the ends of the mage’s long white hair and trying to grab the sparkly stone on the end of Anafiel’s staff. Dorian gave him the quick rundown of Hanrik’s plan and Anafiel, after meeting with an eager Marji, readily agreed. 

                 Their work in the Hinterlands was completed soon after, and they headed back toward Skyhold with a full caravan of provisions and hearts lighter than they had been for ages. Anafiel’s sincere apology to Cullen had cleared the air amazingly, and now that Kitten was getting decent meals he was proving himself to be a bright, happy child. Anafiel took him everywhere when he wasn’t ranging; bouncing him on his knee, carrying him on his shoulders, or letting him awkwardly offer handfuls of grass to his patient hart. Marji Hanrik kindly joked that the Inquisitor only allowed her to hold the baby when he needed food or sleep, and she wasn’t far off.  Dorian tried to remember a time when he had seen Anafiel so happy, and failed. He wondered, with a pang in his heart, if this was how Anafiel had been before the Anchor, before Corypheus.

                When they reached Skyhold, Kitten was in a fair way to be killed with kindness. After they had heard the story, Josephine and Leliana both became faithful slaves to the baby’s every coo. Vivienne somehow managed to procure some of the most adorable baby clothes anyone had ever seen. Blackwall presented a fully detailed and excellently painted griffon on rockers with a red face and a mumbled, “Tisn’t much,” when Anafiel praised his work.

Varric and Dorian would both read to him, his eyes wide as Dorian raised his arms wide to describe the size of a dragon or giggling when Varric would sing pieces of dwarven ballads. He loved to look at himself in Cullen’s highly polished armor and run his fingers through the Commander’s signature feathered collar. Solas would make fantastic shapes blossom from the end of his staff as Kitten sat on the floor and clapped his hands for more. Anafiel was never concerned when the boy was passed around to each of the Chargers in turn, for he knew he would always end up back in a place of honor on The Iron Bull’s shoulders, rosy and dirty perhaps, but none the worse for wear.  Sera snuck him cookies, and Cole would never rest until Kitten had _that_ pebble that he was pointing at or _this_ leaf on the highest tree branches.

So, the summer, fall and winter passed and then…Adamant. Adamant was a nightmare from start to finish. Not even Kitten’s joy at having them back could soothe Anafiel’s raw nerves. The first thing he did when he got back was close himself in with Marji Hanrik. Anyone standing outside the cottage could hear his gentle voice and her brief cry before they came back out and headed straight for the infirmary.  They all breathed a sigh of relief days later when they heard that Harvin Hanrik had pulled through. He had made plenty of friends with his honest, open demeanor and cheery ways. Even sitting on his hospital bed, his leg all but crippled from having been crushed under falling rubble, he laughed and joked, tickling Kitten until the boy screamed with joy.

He didn’t look so cheerful today, Anafiel noted as he smiled and waved the man into his small office in the mage’s tower. In fact he looked downright nervous, as did Marji at his side. “Hanrik. You’re looking well.”

“Well, I’ll never dance the Remigold it’s true, my lord, but that would have been a blessing _before_ I got bested by a rock.”

Anafiel chuckled appreciatively. “Indeed. Would you like to sit?” He indicated the chairs in front of his desk.

“Thank you my lord,” Anafiel waited for an explanation of why they had come, but it seemed none was forthcoming.

“Is there something you wish to discuss?” He prodded gently.

“Yes milord,” Hanrik took a deep, steadying breath. “You see, it’s like this. You know I’m a Marcher…come from Wycome, in fact.

“Is that so...?”

“Well, we were just thinking, Marji and I, that it might be time, what with my bum leg and all…”

“Ah.” Suddenly it all made sense, “Well, I can’t blame you for wanting to go home, Hanrik.”  

“Just so, milord.” Hanrik breathed a sigh of relief.

“I see,” Anafiel rose and came around his desk, offering his hand. “You’re a good man, Hanrik. It will be the Inquisition’s loss.”

                “Thank you,” Hanrik said as they shook hands. But Marji stood, determination in her gentle brown eyes.             

                “We have one more thing to ask, Inquisitor.”

                “Of course, Marji, anything.”

                “Well, we were just wondering…” Suddenly Hanrik was nervous again. “Marji’s father is a merchant in Wycome and about ready to retire. It’d be a good life for someone who may not be quite as…spry as they used to be. We’ll make a good living, good enough to raise a family comfortable, and well…with the war and the rifts, Skyhold might not be the safest for a boy…”

                It hit Anafiel like a behemoth, leaving him nearly unable to breathe. “Kitten. You want to take Kitten with you.”

                “We know you’re fond of him, milord, and you’re a good man. But we love him too, just like he was our own. You know he’s fond of us, and we’d do our best for him. We’d be good to him, I swear.”

                Anafiel’s first thought was vehement denial, and not a fair bit of anger. But then he met Marji’s eyes. They pled for his understanding, begged him to accept.  She had lost her son; Anafiel couldn’t even comprehend the pain that must have caused her. But she still took an orphan boy who wasn’t even her same race and brought him close to her heart, loved him with no reserve. Could he be the reason she lost another son? Could he cause such pain to such a good heart? Even if he selfishly denied their request, the fact remained that he was not the most suitable father. There was too much to be done, and his odds of survival- while not impossible- were on the slim side as long as Corypheus still drew breath.

                “Sit,” Anafiel was surprised to hear his voice so steady. “And we’ll talk...”

*

                The chilly spring day that the Hanriks left Skyhold was the worst day of Anafiel’s life. Worse than Adamant, worse even than facing Corypheus. His heart felt like lead in his chest, and only Dorian’s comforting presence at his side saved him from making a public spectacle of himself. Kitten, bundled warm and snug between Marji and Harvin in the wagon, saw it all as a lark as he watched the swallows circle in the dawn sky.

                “Here,” Anafiel handed Harvin a packet sealed with the Inquisition seal. “Your month’s pay. Also, there’s a letter there- take it to Keeper Deshanna once you reach Wycome. She’s my old clan first, and as I understand, she has great pull since the uprising. She’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

                “You’re too kind, milord.”

                “Lo…lo…” Kitten mimicked, reaching out to Anafiel. Once in the mage’s arms, his fingers immediately went to the pendant around Anafiel’s neck. It was a focusing crystal made of amethyst that Anafiel was particularly fond of. He slipped it over his head without hesitation and hung it around the baby’s neck. The boy turned it over and over in his hands, watching the facets sparkle in the light until he was distracted by the strange, wet drops on Anafiel’s cheeks. He touched them with a gentle baby finger, but Anafiel quickly handed him back to Harvin.

                “Da? Da?” Kitten squirmed around, trying to see over Harvin’s shoulder.  He reached to Anafiel once more. “Da!”

                Dorian saw Anafiel flinch as though he had been struck, heard his sharp intake of breath, but the Inquisitor’s voice was surprisingly calm. “Da,” He said and pointed to Harvin. “Ma.” And pointed to Marji. “Da.” Once more to Harvin.

                “Da.” Kitten said proudly, patting Harvin’s chest. Anafiel nodded, forced a smile.

                “That’s right. Goodbye, Kitten.” 

                “My lord…” Harvin’s voice was hesitant, “We thought we’d call him Lavellan. It’s a good strong name- one he can grow into.”

                Unable to speak, Anafiel just nodded again. He waved as the wagon pulled out of the gate, until a bend in the road hid them from view. “Well,” Anafiel said bleakly. “That’s that.”

                Dorian knew better than to ask if he was alright. “You can always go for a visit, you know, once this is over. And there are always letters.”

                “Yes. That’s something, anyway.” Anafiel took a deep breath. “Thank you, Dorian. I suppose I should get back to work.”  
               

                 “I think they could manage without you for one day…”

                “I’d rather stay busy I think.” But it was not to be. Anafiel was under the archway leading to the stairs when the misery caught up. He had to brace himself against the stone, hand clamped over his mouth to stop himself from howling his pain to the whole of Skyhold, body shaking with the effort of holding it back.

                It was in that moment that Dorian understood. He didn’t want Anafiel for his power, impressive though it was. He wanted Anafiel for the strength that drove him to defend the helpless, the brave spirit that would not stand injustice…the selfless heart that allowed him to release those he loved to a better life, even as that same heart broke with the effort. He allowed Anafiel a moment before slipping his arm gently around him and steering him toward the castle.  “Come along, amatus,” He said, the endearment slipping unbidden from his lips, “The Inquisition can watch itself for a day.”


End file.
